The Bonds You Break
by gwendy
Summary: Memories collide and shatter as India chooses a different path from what she had originally intended. Contains snippets from various characters, interpretations of scenes, and other possible scenarios outside the scope of the movie. UN-BETA'd.
1. Chapter 1

The Bonds You Break

By gwendy

A breeze fluttered in from the open window, the curtain swaying in its wake. Another car passed by from the busy streets below, its lights playing on the cracked ceiling of the small room.

There was noise all around—distant horns blaring, tires screeching, people screaming bloody murder, but all she could hear was the pulsing of blood in her ears, the rhythmic creaks of the bed, her moans, his grunts.

She ran her arm across the scratchy surface of linen which chafed the skin of her back. It was nothing like the silken sheets she had been accustomed to. There was nothing soft about it.

It was as rough with her as he was.

She inhaled the masculine scent of him, the sweat dripping to the crook of his neck.

She tasted the salt of his skin. The blood in his mouth.

Her eyes darted elsewhere and rested on the dresser mirror by the side of the bed.

He followed her gaze.

Her mouth was agape, each breath catching. Gasping.

Her eyes, mirrored his to perfection, their faces flushed and sweaty.

"Look at us," he whispered, pressing his cheek against hers as he continued to thrust. "Look. We were made for this, you and I."

She turned to him, unsure what to say.

He moved his hand and yanked her hair, forcing her to look back at the mirror again: towards the image of her pale, child-like form bouncing beneath his well-tanned physique.

Her scalp burned. His scratches stung. Almost every part of her hurt.

It was agonizing.

It was exhilarating.

"India..."

He let go of her hair, and India Stoker was once again eye to eye with her tormentor.

Her father's killer.

Her lover.

And as Charlie leaned down to devour her lips, she wondered, as she always had, at what point they stopped being uncle and niece.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're an uncle."

Charlie Stoker's fingers stopped in mid-air, hovering over the piano keys. Only seconds ago, he had drummed up the same tune he always had to drown out Richard's incessant droning.

His older brother certainly had his attention now.

"What did you say?" Charlie asked.

"You're an uncle." Richard walked over to his side and propped up an elbow to the piano. Charlie started to grimace when Richard pulled out a photograph. "Evelyn gave birth a few days ago. We named her India."

India. Charlie stopped himself from asking why they named the infant so, and even as Richard held the photograph to his face, he didn't bother to take it.

But he looked.

There on the glossy paper was the image of a smiling Richard Stoker, looking lovingly at a tiny bundle in his wife's arm. Evelyn looked a little worse for wear, her long strawberry blonde hair uncharacteristically unkempt. She smiled in the picture, but it looked strained.

"Lovely," Charlie offered and went back to piano playing.

"India has your eyes you know," Richard continued and took out another photo. "If you weren't locked up in here, I would've asked for a paternity test."

"I chose to stay." Charlie hit a deliberate bad note. "I'm not locked up in here."

"You might as well be," Richard fumed. "Charlie, all your psychiatrists and therapists have given you the clear years ago. You were a child. There's no need to punish yourself over what happened with Jonathan."

Charlie said nothing. His fingers tickled the ivory once more, the music melodious.

"Come home," he heard Richard say. "What kind of family is family that never comes home?"

"This is my home, Richie." Charlie quickened his playing. "Away from home."

"Home is supposed to be with your family." Richard sighed and put the two photographs near the music sheet. "I'll leave this here, just to let you know that there's still life beyond these walls."

Charlie continued to play. Even as he heard the door close behind him, he played his lonely tune, his gaze resting on the close up photo of his baby niece, whose eyes mirrored his to perfection.

Notes:

If you feel that Richard and Charlie are a bit out of character here, just be patient, I'm building up to something :)

Kudos and comments are more than enough to help me continue this fic. Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie's footsteps echoed through the empty halls of Crawford Institute. As with every yearly evaluation, he was once again given the clear. He was, by all accounts, sane. What happened all those years ago had been an unsupervised, misguided and neglected child's horrendous mistake. He had been and was still remorseful for it. That's why wouldn't go home. He couldn't face his brother, or the memory of his parents because of what he had done to poor, little Jonathan.

That was what they wanted to hear, so that was what he had said and expressed.

Charlie whistled a tune as he turned towards his quarters. He paused, his hand midway to the doorknob. He could hear a familiar shuffling inside despite the thick walls, and when he finally entered, he found, to no surprise, Mrs. McGarrick, the Stoker family housekeeper for the past twenty years.

"Charlie!" Mrs. McGarrick walked quickly towards him and pulled him to an embrace. She had always favoured him among the Stoker brothers. "You grow taller and more handsome each time I see you."

Charlie gave her a smile which he knew she'd perceive as warm as he gingerly extricated himself from her arms. He found a sudden fascination with her thin, wrinkled neck. "I'm just blessed with good genes, I suppose. To what do I owe the honor, Mrs. McGarrick?"

"Richie wanted me to check up on you," Mrs. McGarrick sat down on Charlie's couch. "Your annual evaluation comes out today, if I'm not mistaken."

"No, you're not mistaken," Charlie said softly and moved towards his piano. He sat down and began to play. "Same result as last year and the year after that. Either way, I'm not going home. This is my home."

"Oh, Charlie," Mrs. McGarrick cooed, and Charlie suddenly found himself being embraced from behind by the woman who practically raised him.

He wondered how much strength it would take to snap that thin, wrinkled neck.

He played louder, the music frantic but melodious.

"Charlie, come home." Mrs. McGarrick let him go but remained by his side. "It's been seven long years since you've been cooped up here. You're what, fifteen now? You've already missed so much. India's starting to crawl, you know."

Charlie stopped playing. "India?"

"Yes. India. Your niece."

Niece. Charlie had almost forgotten. It was still all too foreign for him, being an uncle; having a new addition to the family.

Foreign, and yet familiar. He could feel a pull in his gut, a heaviness in the hollow of his chest.

An inexplicable excitement in his veins.

"I'm not good with children, Mrs. McGarrick," Charlie said pointedly. The silence grew so heavy that Charlie decided to puncture it with tickling the ivories some more. "Give Richard and Evelyn..." he paused a little, "...and India...my love."

"Of course, dear." Mrs. McGarrick gave Charlie a pat on the head then headed towards the door. Charlie heard her turn the door knob, but sensed her hesitation. "She's very much like you, you know. India. Quiet baby. Intense eyes. You would like her."

He didn't turn. "I'm sure I will."

"Would you like me to tell you more about her?"

Charlie lifted his fingers from the keys and finally turned to Mrs. McGarrick. Eyes still on her thin neck, he leaned back against his piano and nodded. "Yes, please."

Mrs. McGarrick broke out into a wide smile. That was what she had wanted to hear, and Charlie always told people what they wanted to hear.


End file.
